Three Sins for Three Sisters
by aroseofmanyleaves
Summary: There is a clear divide between good and evil, but sin chokes even the kindest of people. To be vain, to be naive, and to be guilty. AU - Evanora, Theodora and Glinda.
1. Vanity

_Hey guys, just a quick note – I have never read Wicked (although I have it in my possession), so this is entirely based on the latest movie Oz: The Great and Powerful, I loved it – Rachel Weisz's character was not explored enough. This will be one of three if I can get them written soon! This is an AU plot – I changed the ending to how I thought it would/should happen. Enjoy _

There is a large, inconceivable, difference between being vain and being jealous; vanity is to take pride in one's appearance, whereas jealousy is to desire another's. And Evanora was never jealous. She was the eldest, had a certain grace, and walked with the power and the authority that came from being a murderess. She had highly arched, shaped, eyebrows, full, but cruel, lips and eyes that turned from green as moss to black as night in one fraction of a second. Green was her colour - her talisman, her robes, her jewels. But no, she was never jealous.

When Theodora - oh darling, innocent, simplistically _naive_ Theodora - had burst into her chambers, tears literally carved into her face, there had been a moment of panic, soon washed over by a calm wave of nonchalance. She knew. Of course she knew. Theodora may be foolish in her heart, but she was intelligent in her head. And clever girls don't need hearts or feelings or love (oh the desperation was grating on her nerves).

An apple. An old fairytale really, something that had once fallen from the sky onto the cobbled pavements of her street when she was young. The book was slim, battered, rain damaged, but Evanora read from it and learnt. Evil always wins.

_(What she never knew was that the last three pages were missing.)_

Theodora had never taken an interest in books. That's why she didn't know. Theo threw accusations at her after she had swallowed, but it was too late. Her heart - her silly, precocious, childish heart - began to choke on the dark. And whilst a tiny, irreconcilable part of her screamed and pounded against an evil wall to _stop, that's your sister_, Evanora took pride in her work. And she wasn't hurting her sister at all, she was _fixing_ her.

And when darling, not-so-beautiful-anymore Theodora rose up from the ashes - so to speak - she was certain that Glinda was to be beaten. And she almost was. It would have been spectacular.

_-Vanity-_

Evanora clutched desperately at her chest, an agony she had never felt ripping up through her chest, as if scissors were gliding through her bones. Her hands were shaking, her feet scrabbling against the cold, marble floor tiles. Her brain was scrabbling, bubbling. _Where's Theodora? Is she alright?_

By sheer force of will, she forced her gaze upon Glinda's hideously beautiful face and followed the trail of gold on her sleeves until they reached her palm. Her heart - if she had had one - would have jumped into her throat. Instead, she felt the blood draining away from her face, a chill rising in its place.

"You," she gasped out, retreating into herself, pain cramping her body. "What have you done!" she shrieked out, releasing the pain and the ferociousness. Her talisman, her power, her magic, her soul, had been crushed in the hands of that worthless, beaming, smug nightmare. The green fell from Glinda's hands, as if she were repulsed. The stones hit the ground, clanging loudly She felt like roaring - she felt like she was on fire. Evanora's top lip rose bitterly, forming a grim smile - _so this is what it feels like, Theodora? To be __**angry**__? _No wonder her tears scarred.

With a strained cry of agony and hopelessness, Evanora turned from the hateful witch. She crawled shakily, each inch travelled worth the seizures possessing every cell of her being. It was the end. Tears filled her eyes. _Wretched book lied to me! _Anger coursed through her. _It told me I was the winner! _Her movements stopped. She couldn't move, not by a spell, but by pain. And as Evanora crumpled to the ground, sure in a moment the beautiful darkness would spill over her, she caught a glimpse of her hand.

The transformation was quick, like Theodora's. Her manicured, smooth, ageless skin shrank and tightened and aged, and her nails grew long and filthy, her rich emerald rings swinging merrily off bony fingers. She felt her cheekbones sharply pressing into saggy, drooping skin. Her hair loosened from her scalp, and the pain magnificently stopped. And that was the last positive thought Evanora ever experienced.

Her body - ugly, decrepit, bereft of any beauty - was weak. Her vanity was all but pointless. But it remained. And now she was haggard, and heartless and sister-less. With a cry of sorrow (_is that what this is? She thought, wiping a tear from her eye_) Evanora knew it was too late.

She could hear dainty footsteps approaching her, and her shoulders swung around to face the intruder. Glinda may be good, but she is not blind to the ugly. Evanora had no need of a mirror to determine what she now looked like - although she could feel the ugliness burning against her all-too-prominent bones. Glinda looked like she wanted to say something, and Evanora was powerless to stop her. The magic was gone. It was all gone.

So what was the point?

Before Glinda could open her mouth and - if the Devil be real may be forbid - _forgive _her for her wicked ways, Evanora picked her frail body from the ground, ran to the balcony and jumped.

It felt like she was soaring, just like flying, except she could not prevent the speed from increasing. As the wind whipped her face, she heard two screams. Glinda, leaning over the balcony, probably nasty fear spread over her slimy face, (let guilt rot her away, haha!). But Theodora. Her baby sister. All gone now, thanks to her. She was a monstrosity.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, plummeting ever closer to the ground. And suddenly, she was hit, not by Glinda nor that damned Great and Powerful Wizard, but by a spell from Theodora. She couldn't save her, but she could make her beautiful, one last time. Her rich mahogany hair flowed behind her, her skin beamed and tears streamed down her plump, rosy lips. Her vanity was satisfied.

"I'm sorry, my sister, for breaking your heart."

And the delicious darkness finally enraptured her soul and buried her within it.


	2. Naivety

Theodora can admit to being a little silly at times, but never really naive. Being trusting, feeling love for her sister, liking beautiful things - that is not _naivety_, it is simply enjoying the world she lives in. Wanting to be a Queen is also not stupid, not when Oz had given her his grandmother's music box, and kissed her under a handful of sprinkled stars. He had agreed with her even, nodded his head and repeated her statement that they belonged together.

But he was a liar.

She should have seen it the moment she introduced him to Evanora and he feasted upon her body with greedy eyes and consumed her face - her eyes, her nose, her red, red lips. And the throne; he looked at it with more lust than he had ever directed at her in the entire time they had spent together. She was suspicious initially, but he was the _Wizard_, and he said they belonged as one.

_We danced all night long...a gift, his grandmother's music box_. That wretched, wretched beast of a man! Since she was young, anger always had to be contained; one single burst of rage did more damage than a blazing fire and a rebellion. But she had torn away from her sister's ignorant gaze and sprinted to her room, sobbing awfully into her palms, letting the inescapable tears stain and disfigure her innocent face. When she had finally found courage to look at her reflection in the mirror, she saw what he had done to her.

She destroyed it. The shards flew around her, falling to the floor, and she shattered them with the bases of her boots as she stalked to the bed and sobbed scars into her cheeks. She hated him - _how could she not have seen it coming?_

But now she knows why. Because he is a man and her sister is a witch. Things she had always known, but never understood until now. It is in a man's nature to break hearts - how could she have been so foolish to believe that she was special? That he _loved _her? God, it was shaming to even remember how she had been - gushing and sweet and a damsel in distress. She hated herself for it.

And her sister was a witch, like her, and she enjoyed casting spells. And that apple certainly didn't taste right. It was only when the room around her became distorted, like the mirror shattering but a thousand times over in all colour of the spectrum, that Theodora realized the truth.

_You, you! You killed our father, you started the rebellion, and you are the one killing and stealing and sinning for the throne_. Before Theodora could reach over and attack her sister, she fell to the ground in pain. The transformation was agony, full of burning tears, regret, and betrayal. But when it was over - blissfully, thankfully over - Theodora looked up at her sister, and did not hate her anymore. No, she hadn't hurt her at all - just showed her how ridiculously naive she had been her whole life so far.

_-Theodora-_

The plan had failed miserably, and now, worst of all, Evanora had rejected and deserted her to face him all alone. Apoplectically enraged does not even begin to describe her feelings right now, but it does do justice to the sheer anger she feels. That man - _can he even be described as such (maybe a pig would be more apt)? _- had thwarted the only thing she desired. He had promised her she would be his Queen - _he had, he had, she knew he had..._ Now she was nothing; now she was back to how she used to be; living in the shadows of her elder sisters - Glinda especially - and being humiliated. All. The. _Time._

But what had come of her transformation? Surely being this way was better. People who wear their hearts on their sleeves - the way in which she had so shamefully done in the past - got hurt. They got hurt _badly_. People lost their lives because people they loved betrayed them or made them feel worthless - no one could do that to her now. Or so she had though. But when she leapt onto her clichéd broomstick and shot into the skies above that magical cloud projecting his belligerent face, Theodora was struck was the disabling thought that she felt hurt now. _Oz, Glinda, Evanora, the people_ - all had abandoned her, and it hurt too much.

She is aware of the riotous nature in the city, but a sudden movement catches her eye. Someone - someone who looks suspiciously like an aged member of her family - is falling. Falling fast.

The glimpse of her awful, winked face is all she needs to identify the jumper.

For several moments, Theodora toys with the idea that Evanora is simply doing this for attention. She knows Theodora will come and save her - she knows she will most likely forgive her for running off earlier, leaving her to face that awful man alone.

But as she falls ever closer, it hits her that Evanora has lost her pendant, and lost her power. Why else would she look like she does now, unless someone else had destroyed her tremendous magical abilities? _And she is ugly_.

Theodora knows why she is falling - free will is the greatest lie, but Evanora chose this. She always was the most monotonously proud creature, and even though her heart is gone - and has been missing for a long time - Theodora knows her sister still feels. She is still vain, and Theodora is still naive. But she laughs darkly to herself - _oh how I used to worship her, and what is she now?_

_A decrepit, cowardly old hag - falling from her broken rein because she can't live with being truly, monstrously, ugly._

But even though she feels nothing - nothing save the unimaginable thirst for revenge against _him_ - a shiver forces its way down Theodora's spine as she hovers atop the kingdom, perched almost daintily on her broomstick. As her sister tumbles and crashes to the floor, Theodora knows those ages they spent together are still there, tucked away, hiding in the back of her sub conscience. And in a split second, she remembers.

_She remembers Evanora being eleven, and her being five, and Evanora leading her down the garden to their little fountain and telling her if she made a wish, it would come true. She remembers being ten, and Evvy organizing her birthday party so the cake was red and the balloons were red, and even though only Tommy from the bakery turned up, he was wearing red shorts as well. Then there were her teenage years - pining after Evanora when she went on holiday with friends, kicking and screaming at her father for not letting her do the same at thirteen years old. Stealing her make-up and beautiful, beautiful dresses; trying on her shoes and letting Evvy do her hair when she got home. _Growing up together meant everything - even if everything else was gone, those memories were still there. More powerful than any kind of evil.

She screams, and it echoes.

Acting without permission from her new conscience, Theodora waved her hands subtly and shot a glimmering spiral of red lightning towards Evanora's ever-moving form. Hitting right on target, tears glided down Theodora's cheeks - not daring to singe her flesh anymore - as she watched her sister transform back into the girl she used to know. For a moment, a single moment, what-is-left-of-Theodora felt a deep surge of remorse in the pit of her stomach - an unbearable sadness. Her sister, the only person she had ever truly loved, was soon to be dead. And now she was exiled, and was alone.

She looked away harshly when her dearest sister finally came to a halt. Evanora's reason to jump had been pathetic, she was a coward, she probably deserved to die, and she didn't care, but it was her sister. Theodora looked down at her broom, and, half-panicked, half-joyous, she saw her hand had returned to its former pale state. But when she looked behind her to the balcony, and saw Glinda there, staring down with - _what is that? __**Contempt?**_ - at the body of her magnificent sister, Theodora felt a new kind of rage.

_Oh no,_ Theodora thought, a menacing cackle working its way from her mouth and resounding across the reclaimed kingdom of Oz, _this isn't over yet._

Revenge just got a whole new definition.


End file.
